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  The ringing blow dimmed Mosul’s wit as intended, and for a moment he was unsteady in the saddle. Tancred turned to run the yard of steel through his chest, but a shout reached his ears, “Alive! Alive!”

  Nicholas’s warning voice sent a flash of cold reason through Tancred’s senses. He did not want Mosul dead, not yet.

  Tancred eased the stallion in a half circle around Mosul.

  Too easy! Having trailed him from Sicily to Antioch, was his enemy now to crumble in defeat this quickly? Mosul must pay! He must fear!

  “You have grown fat and lazy,” Tancred mocked. “The trophy of your head must not come in one blow. I am accustomed to battling warriors, not palace guards!”

  In a rage Mosul drove at him with the advantage of the heavy Norman horse, thinking to run him down, but Tancred swerved the stallion, which seemed to flow smoothly to the side as Mosul’s horse thundered past. The Arabian shook its mane, and its nostrils flared, as though insulted by the Great Horse.

  Mosul thrust his sword, trying desperately to reopen Tancred’s wound. Aware of the danger, Tancred foiled the attack and moved out of reach, keeping his vulnerable side away from Mosul.

  The Moors were experts in the use of swords. If Tancred had not disciplined himself at becoming adept to every ploy, Mosul could gain the upper hand. Tancred met and challenged Mosul’s display of dueling steel. The swords flashed, touching, impacting, at times seeming to caress. They engaged, detached, each man seeking a brief second of weakness in the other. Mosul sought the ultimate moment to bring home the thrust of death, but Tancred fought to unnerve him.

  “Come, Assassin! You must do better. Face-to-face you fail! Is that why you struck my brother in his back?”

  Mosul strove to fend off Tancred’s maneuvers. Though he did not speak his hatred, Tancred knew it was because he feared he would lose concentration. But Mosul heard every deliberate gibe, and they cut as deeply as any point of steel. Tancred was tiring but he dare not show it. He goaded Mosul even more. “You disappoint me. Is this all you can do?” He shoved Mosul’s blade back with contempt.

  For a moment they paused, swords crossed, and Mosul’s ragged breathing came to his ears.

  “After these years I expected more of a challenge! Perhaps I should just sell you to the Rhinelanders the way you sold me? You can carry their baggage.”

  Mosul lunged, striking ferociously. His blade slammed down. Tancred saw the move coming, and thrust upward. Mosul’s blade slid off. Tancred, sensing the moment, sent another fierce smash against the side of his helmet. Dazed, Mosul was slipping from the saddle. Tancred unleased the final blow, knocking Mosul to the ground.

  A mighty cheer went up from his allies. Jamil was on his feet dancing among the rocks.

  Tancred wheeled the stallion to circle Mosul. At last, his chief enemy was within his control. In any other situation he would have leaned down to strike the death blow. Again, the shout of warning, this time from his cousin Leif: “Stay your hand! You want him alive!”

  Tancred swung his right leg over the rear of the saddle and pivoted on the left stirrup, reaching down to snatch up Mosul’s sword, the final act of victory. He held it up to catch the sun’s rays, and another cry of cheer came from Jamil and Hakeem!

  Helena rushed down the steps of the ruins in jubilation for Tancred. Her eyes flashed as she watched him ride across the court toward the steps. She came down before he reached her, closing the distance that kept them apart for the last time.

  He dismounted, sweeping her up into his arms. Her tears wet her cheeks as their adoring gaze held, speaking silent words of love, determined that nothing should ever part them again, they clung to each other.

  The wind played among the stone ruins of a thousand yesterdays, but tomorrow—? Tomorrow bid them enter their future as one, with their final hope and confidence bound together in the One and only eternal Redeemer of all mankind, the Lord Jesus Christ.

  ***

  Jamil, watching the pair, could not restrain his jubilation and tried to break away, but Nicholas caught him by the back of his tunic.

  “But Bishop Nicholas,” the boy protested, “I only wish to tell him that the duel was well done! Oh, I could see it again, sevenfold!”

  Nicholas restrained a laugh. “You bloodthirsty cub.”

  Jamil grinned. “The cub wishes only to learn from the tiger!”

  “You deserve serious watching,” Nicholas told him, a subdued twinkle in his eye. “A warrior like Tancred fights only when he must. And then only in honor, as a last resort. A cub who sniffs with pleasure at the smell of battle is likely to find himself running off to lick his wounds. Remember that.”

  “I will try to remember,” Jamil stated in a serious tone.

  Nicholas lifted a brow. “You will remember if you are turned over to me as Tancred wishes.”

  “Turned over…to you?”

  Nicholas covered a smile. “Yes. You will first become a scholar. A disciple of the Scriptures. When you master those, then you will be ready to handle the sword wisely. For you will then know who your True Master is.”

  Jamil moved uneasily. “I wish to be like Tancred.”

  “Then you will learn Greek and Latin as well.”

  Nicholas laughed at the expression on Jamil’s young face. He tousled his head. “Be of good cheer, Jamil. Tancred will also teach you the use of the sword. And even I have a few warrior lessons worthy of passing on.”

  ***

  Tancred rode to the center of the line, where Walter sat astride his Great Horse like a monument to William the Conqueror, looking down on Mosul.

  “Here is the assassin of Derek Redwan,” Tancred stated.

  Mosul lifted his head in defiance. His eyes refused to yield to Count Walter’s even stare. “Killing Derek was a mistake. I meant my dagger to enter the heart of Tancred Jehan.”

  Tight-lipped, Walter demanded, “Why Jehan?”

  “Kamila. I thought she loved Jehan. I did not know it was Derek.”

  “But the dagger belonged to Tancred.”

  “Your enemies planned it so. It suited me well enough.”

  “My enemies?” Walter asked, scowling.

  “Yes!”

  “And their reason?”

  Mosul shrugged disdainfully. “Greed, hate, ambition—what other reasons do men kill for?”

  “Are you vowing there was no other reason for my enemies to plot against the Redwan family?” Walter demanded.

  Mosul’s dark eyes mocked him. “Were not greed and ambition behind the reason you believed Jehan killed his brother? And are these not now sufficient to satisfy you? Nay, there was no great reason. Jehan was simply in my way.”

  Rebuked by the very man who had murdered Derek, Walter lifted his weapon but Rolf stayed his arm. “Nay, brother.”

  Tancred broke the bitter, pained silence. “These enemies in Palermo who paid you to blame Derek’s death on me—who are they?” At one time, Tancred had believed Walter had been behind it. He no longer thought so, and was relieved.

  Mosul turned and looked up at Tancred. For a moment he kept silent. A faint, grudging glimmer of respect showed in his eyes as he scanned him. Tancred had fought fair and well.

  “I shall tell you, Jehan. It was ibn-Rushid.”

  Tancred remembered the name but not the man. He exchanged glances with Rolf, then Walter. Did they know who he was?

  Rolf shook his head and shifted in his saddle, the leather squeaking. “I know him not. I have been away from Palermo too long. Do you know him, Walter?”

  Walter showed surprise at the name, and then his expression settled into something akin to embarrassment. “A hundred enemies, and I am taken off guard by ibn-Rushid.”

  “Who is he?” Tancred asked.

  “It was ibn-Rushid who first wished to take your mother for his wife. I did not know he harbored such bitterness against your father Dreux, or you as the offspring. Ibn-Rushid loved the daughter of al-Kareem, your grandfather. That she was given to a Norman lo
rd like Dreux blinded him with bitterness. I should have known…but I did not give it any serious thought,” Walter said with self-incrimination. “I have not thought of him since you were born, Tancred.”

  “Never underestimate a Moor,” Mosul spoke up, his tone contemptuous.

  “Next time, I will be wiser,” Count Walter retorted. “But knowledge of enemies will not bring Derek back, nor will it save you, Mosul. You are guilty of the murder of more than one soul, as we will not forget the innocent maiden, Kamila. I am sure there are others.”

  Walter turned to Seigneur Rolf and the other lords. They huddled for a moment in whispers, then Walter gestured for Mosul to be taken away. The vote is unanimous. Hang him.”

  The others rode off and left Tancred alone with Walter.

  ***

  Jamil jumped down from Nicholas’s horse and was about to run after the men leading Mosul away, but Tancred moved his horse forward and, leaning down, caught Jamil up to the front of his saddle.

  “I was only going to—“ began Jamil.

  “I know well what is on your mind. See that rock over there in the shade?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Go sit and contemplate justice. And,” he warned, “Be there the next time I look.”

  A minute later Tancred rode back to Walter. They rode together to where the stone ruins were scattered below on a sloping mound. Here they stopped and dismounted. The breach between them must be handled with care.

  The wind rumpled through the seasonal grasses of browns and golds.

  Tancred felt the silence between them. For a long moment neither spoke, then his uncle sighed.

  “What will you do with your future now, Tancred?”

  Tancred’s answer was swift. “Return to Palermo.”

  “If you do, there will be the man ibn-Rushid.”

  “I know. But I will return regardless. He must be an older man if he loved my mother. Perhaps he will be wiser now, and weary of his bitterness. Maybe I can make some manner of peace with him.”

  Walter looked skeptical. “If not?”

  Tancred kept silent for a moment, and then sighed. “If not, I will face the matter if it raises its serpentine head.”

  Walter’s hard eyes softened. “Well said. Let me also say this. Derek would have failed had he been in your dangerous position. He was tender, oft-times even foolish on some matters. But you—” and Walter looked at him again—“I knew your courage would drive you on. But to reclaim your honor and to find the true guilty one? I confess I did not know you so well, Tancred. Nicholas did. In truth, in spite of Rolf’s interest in you and the good adoptive father he has been, it is Nicholas who is your father.”

  “Yes, in that you speak the truth. Nicholas is aware I have looked on him as such.”

  “I have something to confess to you.”

  “It is not necessary.”

  Walter looked at him sharply. “Do you fear I will at last show a droplet of tenderness? Is that too much for you to accept?”

  “I have learned these years to live with your hate.”

  “Then I want you to understand what I would never tell another. There was never hate. Ask your uncles. They know. I drove myself the more rigorously to find you, not for retribution alone, though I told myself it was so, but for the need to lay eyes on you again. I feared I was wrong but could not humble myself before the clan to admit it. I hoped you would humble yourself before me, giving me a reason to yield, to offer you forgiveness, but you would not relent your integrity, and I was too proud to be the first to admit my error.”

  “We all stumble in our walk. That you admit your pride is a consolation to me.”

  “Then you do understand, Tancred?”

  “I do not fully understand myself. And I knew you only as the head of the clan after my father, Dreux, was killed in battle. If there is a kinder man within you, I am sorry but I do not yet know him, nor understand him.”

  “Then you will forgive me if I did not fully understand you,” his uncle said. “For you also, even as a youth, hid your heart behind armor.”

  “I was a Moor before you received me as a Norman son of Count Dreux Redwan. To keep to my own counsel seemed wiser, and safer.”

  “Yes, true. I hid mine as well. Do not all men?”

  “Then we do understand each other.” Tancred looked at him and was able to smile.

  Walter, too, showed a brief grin. “Then perhaps we can both understand better in the future. This woman Helena, the niece of Nicholas—” Walter gestured his head back toward where she waited with her uncle. “She is to be congratulated for reaching beyond your armor to your heart.” He gave Tancred a hard appraisal. “Where did you find her?”

  “Constantinople.”

  Walter arched his brow. “A spoiled damsel, is she?”

  “She improves with time,” Tancred said with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “She is well worth the trouble. She is the daughter of General Lysander. Her courage is indomitable. I am exceedingly proud of her.”

  The tension had eased, yet the constraint between them remained. Words were few; much was left unspoken. Tancred turned to walk back.

  “Wait,” Walter said.

  Tancred paused and followed Walter’s gaze to where the Redwans lounged near their horses, watching them.

  “You know what they expect, do you not?” Walter said. “Though they would never admit it, they desire a show of peace and unity.”

  Tancred looked at him and saw the quiet flame in his uncle’s eyes. It would have been easy to walk away. It was difficult to come to grips with the need that he too, felt after his betrayal.

  A memory came to his mind unbidden. Joseph, the firstborn son of Jacob and Rachel in the Old Testament, was sold into slavery by his heartless older brothers. Many had been Joseph’s trials and afflictions during years of Egyptian slavery, but God had not forgotten him. In the end he’d been elevated from slavery to become prime minister of Egypt, and there’d been reunion and forgiveness with his brothers. “You meant it for evil,” he told them, “But God meant it for good.”

  Tancred too, had learned much through these years of trial, and his faith in Christ was stronger than ever. He would hold no grudge against his uncle.

  Unexpectedly he laughed. “Peace, my uncle!” He threw his arms around Walter.

  Count Walter Redwan grasped him eagerly. “My son! Everything is yours. The galleons, the merchant ships, the castle. With your strong hand and wit all will survive during my absence. The enemy, like hungry wolves, lie in wait to snatch it up while I am gone.”

  “You are not returning to Palermo?”

  “I will go on with Bohemond. I have taken the vow. We have Antioch. And now? Jerusalem!”

  “I have no heart for the crusade,” Tancred confessed.

  “It is good that you do not. Marry, produce heirs, and bless the Redwan line.”

  “With that, we are in full agreement,” said Tancred. “But there is one more friend I must recover before I leave here…”

  Behind the Veil / The Royal Pavilions book3/ Linda Chaikin

  Chapter 25

  God is Good

  Tancred found what he was looking for some distance behind the old ruins. He gave a familiar whistle. Alzira pricked up her ears, gave a low whinny and stood on her hind legs, pawing the air. Tancred came up to untie her as the Arabian mare turned her soft nose and nuzzled his neck.

  “Well, Little Princess Alzira, you look none the worse for our long separation. I cannot say the same for your owner.”

  He mounted her and rode back through the ruins to rejoin Helena. The mare’s hooves echoed on the ancient stones as she pranced forward, tossing her head and swishing her tail.

  Helena, sitting astride the stallion, Altair, waited with Nicholas and Jamil to return to the Castle of Hohms,

  As Tancred reached them, his eyes on Helena, Jamil’s smile was wistful. He turned to Nicholas. “They are happy, are they not, Master Nicholas?”

  “T
hey are indeed, Jamil,” Nicholas agreed. “Such a warrior and so beautiful a lady match well together, especially when she is my niece. Like the wind to the wings of the falcon.”

  “Come,” Tancred said. “Let us leave these old ruins at once. Rolf and the others are waiting for us. We ride to the Castle of Hohms.”

  ***

  Though Seigneur Rolf Redwan was disappointed to learn that Tancred would not remain at the castle very long, his pleasure over the upcoming marriage to Helena and the expectation of visiting many grandchildren in Palermo, Sicily, appeased him. And after all, Adrianna would now be staying at the castle instead of returning to Constantinople. Rolf had fallen in love with her while protecting her from Basel during the past months. As far as Rolf was concerned, she was a gift from God; and Adrianna desired to marry Seigneur Rolf Redwan and remain with him and her baby son at the Castle of Hohms.

  Helena had been overjoyed at seeing her mother again—and her tiny baby brother. And now, the unexpected news that Rolf and Adrianna were to be married! Helen’s happiness was complete.

  Hakeem, too, had ridden with them to the castle. He now snored below in the great hall, content to have his head in place, knowing he was returning to the Moorish section of Palermo, where he would once again take his position as guard to al-Kareem and serve as Tancred’s secret ally.

  And Nicholas had reason for celebration. Adrianna had named her son “Nicholas.” He was pleased over his sister’s wish to marry Rolf Redwan. The boy would have a strong father and would be raised to worship the true and living God. Thereafter, Nicholas had made the surprising decision to go on with the crusader knights to liberate Jerusalem.

  “You are sure you will not return to Sicily with us?” Tancred inquired.

  “In time, if God wills. First, I wish to see Jerusalem free. Then, there is the Lysander inheritance and summer palace in Constantinople to deal with. It belongs to me, Adrianna, and Helena. Who knows whether one day you and Helena might not wish to live there, or even your sons and daughters?”